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Dad pushed his hand through his hair.

“No,” he said. “You don’t stay after school if it’s not a driving day. Why the hell don’t they run late buses?”

Dad cussing. This was interesting. And frightening.

“There are a lot of bad people out there, Cadence. You’re smart enough to know that. What would we do? How could we live with ourselves if something happened to you—if some predator got his hands on you?”

I froze. All I could think of was Mr. Connelly, and not because I thought he was a predator but because if my parents ever found out about him, they’d go ballistic. They’d sure as hell think he was a predator.

“Cadence, are you hearing what I’m saying to you?” Dad asked.

“Yes, Dad. I’m sorry. I won’t stay after school anymore when I don’t have the car,” I replied.

“We just want you to be safe, honey,” Mom said.

I didn’t like the whole conversation. I kept picturing Dad trying to kill Mr. Connelly because he wanted to keep me “safe.” And I didn’t want to hear my parents verbalize their concern for me. I’d gone so long without hearing it that now it sounded strange. It made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk to them. I only cared about talking to one person at the moment, so I politely excused myself to my bedroom.

I threw my bag and purse carelessly on the floor and crawled into bed.

“God, I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said out loud. “I don’t like my parents, and I’m not sure they really even like me. I think that whole show downstairs was fake. Like they were just reacting the way they thought they were supposed to as concerned parents.”

I paused, feeling a slight pang of guilt for what I said. Was that God telling me to take it down a notch?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I turned over in bed and noticed my Bible sitting on the nightstand. I grabbed it and sat up, feeling a sudden impulse to do something I hadn’t done since I was little.

“Okay, God,” I began, holding the Bible. “I’m in need of some guidance.” And I closed my eyes, flipping through the book, then letting it fall open to a random spot. I placed my forefinger on the page and cracked open my eyes. I read out loud.

“‘He built the Palace of the Forest of Lebanon a hundred cubits long, fifty wide and thirty high, with four rows of cedar columns supporting trimmed cedar beams’.”

I stared at the book.

“Damnit.”

I closed the Bible and tried again. “Okay, Lord. Maybe you were answering someone else’s prayer just then. I really really need some guidance from you because I think I’m falling in love with my math teacher. It’s not like I can help it, I don’t think. I mean, I feel things for him, and I’m drawn to him, and he treats me so kindly. I just need you to tell me what to do.”

I flipped through the Bible once more, stopped at a random section, placed my finger on the page, and opened my eyes.

“‘These are the family heads and those registered with them who came up with me from Babylon during the reign of King Artaxerxes: of the descendants of Phinehas, Gershom . . .’ Son of a bitch! Okay, I need to get out of the Old Testament,” I said.

This time I made sure to flip through the books in the back half of the Bible. I landed on what I was sure would be a clear message from God and read aloud.

“‘There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands, no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one’.”

I stared at the words, absorbing. Thinking. I knew God didn’t talk to people who flipped through the Bible to random verses. That’s not how he communicated, and my seventeen-year-old brain knew that. When I was seven, though, I thought this was how God “spoke” to us. It had to be, because I never heard his voice booming down from heaven, giving me direction or telling me to stop being mean to Annabel in my class.

I grew instantly cold. And I didn’t want to hold my Bible anymore. Somehow it had turned into a bomb, the spark creeping along the last verse closer and closer towards a huge explosion. So I closed the book carefully and slid it back on the nightstand, praying I’d diffused it. I crawled under my covers and hid on the other side of the bed as far away from the Bible as I could get.

I don’t think God meant to tell me that, but he did anyway. And I was left to wonder at my worthlessness—my small brain and heart that longed for a man who could ruin my life. I wasn’t seeking God. I was seeking Mr. Connelly. And what disturbed me the most was that I wanted
his
guidance,
his
words,
his
assurance, because unlike God, I could see him and feel him and touch him.

At the moment, he was more real to me than God.

Dad believed me when I told him I was meeting Avery after school at Starbucks to work on the next youth group community service project. It was Wednesday afternoon, and I told him not to expect me home until seven. Youth group was cancelled since Pastor Allan was sick. I thought for sure Dad wouldn’t let me come home so late since we had dinner every night promptly at 6:30, but he said it was okay, and he even told me to tell Avery he said hello.

Of course, I filled Avery in on this, so she made plans with Gavin. We had a rule: we told each other as little as possible about our clandestine meetings and who we were with, but we always made sure to get our stories straight about the things we did when we were “pretend” together.

“Okay, you had your usual—mocha latté—and I had a black coffee,” Avery said over the phone while I drove to Mr. Connelly’s. I mean Mark’s.

“Gross. You drink black coffee?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Doesn’t that put hair on your chest?”

“You’re so cute, Cadence. I love everything about you,” Avery replied.

I giggled.

“Now, the newest project is a banquet we’re setting up for the senior center on Chastain Road.”

“Is this a real project or a fake one?”

“A real one, I just haven’t actually started organizing anything yet,” Avery replied. “We went over possible times and dates, and I put you in charge of entertainment.”

“What? I don’t know how to entertain old people,” I argued.

“Then ask your parents. I’m sure they can help you out with some ideas,” Avery said.

I grunted.

“I’ll text you the fake times and dates we considered before seven tonight. Is that when you said you had to be home?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Avery replied. “And Cadence?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, give me a little bit of a warning, okay? It would have been nice to get a wax,” Avery said.

“Huh?”

“A wax, Cadence. Good God. You know? Hot gooey stuff to rip your hair out?”

“You get waxes? Like your eyebrows?” I asked, pulling into a parking spot in front of Mark’s building.

“Yeah, like my eyebrows. And my pussy, too,” Avery replied.

I nearly dropped the phone. “You do?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why are you acting so shocked by it? Who the hell wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, looking between my legs.

Avery chuckled. “Has Mystery Man been down there yet?”

She knew I was looking at myself!

“No!” I cried. “And there’s no mystery man!”

“Whatever. Let me give you a tip.”

“No.”

“Too bad. You’ve gotta make sure that shit down there is cleaned up. I can’t imagine any guy wanting his face in a big old bush.”

I was mortified. I didn’t have a big old bush! I trimmed.

“I’ll set up an appointment for you. We’ll go together. But not like be in the same room with each other while she does it.”

“Huh?”

“Bye bye, Cadence,” Avery said sweetly and hung up.

I sat in my car for a moment trying to compose myself. My face was flushed, betraying my nervousness. Mr. Connelly might try to kiss me today. I mean Mark. Damnit! His name is Mark! Mark might try to kiss me today. I was fine with that. I really wanted to kiss him, but what if he wanted to do more than kiss? What if he wanted to go up my shirt or down my pants? Avery had me worried about the way I looked between my legs.

My buzzing phone distracted me. It was a text from Avery.

I get it all taken off.

I didn’t reply. I rolled my eyes, fished a peppermint out of my book bag, and headed for Mark’s apartment. I really didn’t want that image in my brain on the day I thought Mark might kiss me.

“Hi,” he said, wrapping me in a hug. He smelled so good, and so did his apartment. Suddenly everything was scary again, and I didn’t know how to reply. I couldn’t think to say “hi” in response. Total idiot.

“What? Does Yankee Candle make a line just for men?” I asked, pulling away from him and throwing my book bag on his club chair.

“Actually, yeah, they do. They’re called man candles,” he replied.

I cocked my head.

“You know one thing I like about you, Cadence?” Mark asked, shutting the door.

“What’s that?”

“How you try to joke when you’re uncomfortable,” he replied.

I bristled.

“You’ve been here before. Just last Thursday,” he said softly.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Do we need to start over?”

I nodded, and he took my hand, leading me to the couch. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap like before.

“So what would you like to talk about today?” he asked, holding my hand.

I couldn’t get Avery’s revelation about her personal grooming out of my mind. And then it made me think about Mark and what he preferred down there. Hair? No hair? A little bit of hair?

I shrugged.

Mark grinned. “Would you like to eat something?”

I tensed. “Would you?” I cried, panicked.

“Cadence, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” I was agitated and flustered, pulling my hand from his to play with my fingers.

“Will you please talk to me?” Mark asked.

“I’m not ready for you to eat me out!” I blurted. I turned my face and stared at the feet of his club chair. What a freaking moron.

Mark burst out laughing.

“Ugh! Stop!” I cried. I hid my face in my hands.

“I’m sorry, Cadence,” he replied, still chucking. “Man, the stuff that comes out of your mouth.” He peeled away my hands. “I wasn’t gonna eat you out today. We haven’t even kissed, if you remember. And where is this coming from?”

I huffed. “My stupid faux friend.”

“Faux friend?”

“Avery,” I clarified, and looked at Mark.

He chuckled. “Ah, yes. Avery. I’m very glad I don’t have her in any of my classes.”

I smiled.

“What did she say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Did she scare you about . . .
that
?” he asked.

“Why would I be scared?” I asked indignantly.

“I don’t know.”

“What? You think no one’s ever done that to me?”

“I don’t know.”

No one ever
had
done that to me. But I didn’t want him to know it. He was, after all, twenty-eight. I’m sure he had all kinds of experience with oral sex. I felt like a little naïve fool.

“Cadence?” Mark asked gently. “I would never do something you didn’t want me to. You know that, right?”

I nodded.

“Now, I’m gonna make you uncomfortable for just a second,” he said. “You cool with that?”

“I guess,” I replied, feeling my heartbeat increase. I didn’t know what he planned to say. Or do.

“I would never do something you didn’t want me to, but I hope in the future, you let me go down on you,” he said.

I wanted to die.

He cupped my face and forced me to look at him.

“Because I really really wanna eat you out.” He shrugged and grinned. “Eventually.”

He arched an eyebrow, waiting for my response. God, he was so freaking hot! Suddenly I was no longer embarrassed by his words. I just wanted to stare at his features. His hair was especially crazy today. And I wanted my hands in it. I wanted to pull on it. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes! Like fogged glass. A hazy film of smoke, letting me in just enough, but not all the way. And I wanted in all the way.